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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26222245">A sinner, seasoned beginner (Lucky to be alive)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquaresAreNotCircles/pseuds/SquaresAreNotCircles'>SquaresAreNotCircles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MASH (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon-typical alcohol abuse, Coda, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e17 Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, M/M, or at least not a totally depressing one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:08:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26222245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquaresAreNotCircles/pseuds/SquaresAreNotCircles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>If Trapper didn’t know better, Hawkeye could be asleep, the way he’s lying flat on his back on his cot with his hands folded over his belly.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Either that or dead.</em>
</p>
<p>Or: Someone is dead, but it’s not Hawkeye or Trapper. They discover they might have something else in common, too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>"Trapper" John McIntyre/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Tommy Gillis/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A sinner, seasoned beginner (Lucky to be alive)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I got into this new (very old) fandom recently (hello!), and ever since I have, I’ve wanted to write some fluff. This is not that. This is the result of me rewatching a few random season 1 episodes with my dad yesterday and ending up with this one, with all its queer subtext and heartache, and <em>then</em> trying to write something lighthearted and it veering left so much it did a U-turn and this was spit out instead, all in one long sitting.</p>
<p>The title is from the lyrics of Handyman by AWOLNATION.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s not a wake. It’s not, because Hawkeye may be steadily drinking himself into a coma under Trapper’s watchful eye, but Hawk’s sullen quietude doesn’t seem to be grief for his fallen friend so much as for the fact that unlike Tommy, he’s still stuck in the land of the barely living.</p>
<p>Or maybe that’s an uncharitable thought. Trapper quits boring holes into the side of Hawkeye’s head and heaves himself up from his cot to refill his glass at the still. He collects Hawkeye’s on the way, who lets go of it without opening his eyes or moving so much as a muscle. If Trapper didn’t know better, Hawkeye could be asleep, the way he’s lying flat on his back on his cot with his hands folded over his belly.</p>
<p>Either that or dead.</p>
<p>Trapper kicks a leg of the cot to rouse Hawkeye and get rid of that image, because it makes him more nauseous than the drink ever has. “Damn you,” Hawkeye says, not too kindly, but he is startled into moving to grab the sides of the bed when it shakes, so Trapper is satisfied. He hands over the newly full glass as Hawkeye sits up to accept it, and then he decides that he’s let Hawkeye be quiet and heartbrokenly angry for long enough. </p>
<p>He drags over a stool to right next to Hawkeye’s cot and perches on it, not quite unsteady yet. He’s had a few, but not like Hawkeye, who’s been trying very hard to set a new record for draining the still the fastest. “Tell me something about him.”</p>
<p>Hawkeye has that face that he gets when he’s mad at the entire world and he includes Trapper in it for ease of anger. “Who?” he asks, because facetiousness is Benjamin Franklin Pierce’s second middle name, and also the only way he knows how to deal with pain.</p>
<p>Tough luck. Trapper understands grief, and he’s feeling it layered over everything like a heavy blanket of fog this night too. Tommy was a good guy and too many good guys are dying all around them, but this one he briefly knew, this one he liked personally, this one he’d laughed with. It’s always worse when there’s a name and a face and a fond memory attached.</p>
<p>Which means it must be a hundred times worse for Hawkeye, who’s got a hundred times the fond memories of Tommy, but none of that means Trapper has to let him stew in his resentment and let him make it worse for himself by somehow loading the guilt on his own shoulders. And he will – Trapper didn’t know Tommy that well, but he’s had a crash course in Hawkeye since this war started.</p>
<p>“Your friend,” he tells Hawk.</p>
<p>Hawkeye’s face sours and then very nearly crumples, but before it can he throws back his latest drink and flings himself flat on the bed again like his pillow has done him a personal disservice. “Which one?” he asks. “The dead one?” He barks a laugh that doesn’t sound like laughter at all. It leaves behind a silence that tastes of helplessness.</p>
<p>Trapper taps the olive in his own glass to make it bob up to the surface again and traces the rim of his glass with his wet finger. “Yeah. That one.”</p>
<p>Hawkeye doesn’t repeat the laugh, but then nobody is joking. He stares up at what purports to be a roof for a long time, but his eyes are open now and his chest is moving up and down with every breath he takes, so Trapper lets him think. “He was allergic to peanuts,” Hawkeye finally says, still talking to the ceiling.</p>
<p>Trapper is still only halfway through his martini, but he leaves it be and rests it on his knee. Maybe they’ve had enough drinks between them anyway. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. But he still tried to eat a whole jar of peanut butter once. Only got halfway through and had to spend two days in the hospital, but he always swore up and down it was worth it.”</p>
<p>Now Trapper is the one laughing. Someone has to acknowledge that’s funny, and Hawkeye doesn’t seem up to it. “Madman.”</p>
<p>“He was like that. He always took risks that he knew could get him killed, just for kicks. Peanut butter, the Korean frontline, kissing guys.” Hawkeye’s inflection doesn’t change, but that last one still lands with all the subtlety of a time bomb.</p>
<p>Trapper casts around for something light to say before the ticking runs out. “Was he a good kisser?”</p>
<p>He’s pretty sure he means that as a joke, but Hawkeye isn’t playing along tonight. Hawkeye huffs, and passes a hand over his eyes, and says, “Taught me everything I know.” </p>
<p>Trapper can’t hear the ticking over the ringing in his ears.</p>
<p>He’s quiet long enough that it gives Hawkeye a chance to rally and exercise some of that sarcastic wit that people either hate or love him for. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, like it means the exact opposite, “does that scare you?”</p>
<p>“Nah,” Trapper says, unthinkingly. Then he thinks about it, and realizes that even with Hawkeye drunk and grieving and half out his mind, he’s not likely to let Trapper get away with that. Maybe even especially not in that state. “Yeah,” he amends.</p>
<p>Hawkeye looks resigned more than mad, which makes Trapper’s gut twist.</p>
<p>“For you.”</p>
<p>The resignation is pushed out by brief surprise, but it doesn’t linger for too long. Trapper’s glad for it, because he thinks he might have had to take that as an insult. This way, the worst thing that happens is Hawkeye trying to salute him with an empty glass while still horizontal and nearly dropping it. “You’re a good guy, Trap. Decent. Reliable.” Trapper saves the glass from slack fingers and Hawkeye, undeterred, keeps conducting an invisible orchestra with his now empty hand. “Heart in the right place. A lot like Tommy.”</p>
<p>Trapper pretends he needs to pay attention to hold two martini glasses, only one of which still has a drop left to spill. “Not exactly like Tommy,” he says, maybe to his olive, maybe to Hawkeye. “I don’t like peanut butter.”</p>
<p>Hawkeye raises his head and peers at Trapper, half-lidded, bloodshot eyes frighteningly shrewd. He drops his head back down after an extended moment during which Trapper almost doesn’t dare breathe. “Huh. Who knew?”</p>
<p>So even a massively drunk Hawkeye put that together. Trapper laid it right out for him, so he shouldn’t feel so mixed up about it, but he’s not entirely sure he even wanted to be understood.</p>
<p>Strike that. He wants to be understood, he’s just not sure yet he’s got the balls to face the possible consequences if he is. He gets up to put the glasses away.</p>
<p>Like he’s getting into the business of reading minds, Hawkeye asks, out of nowhere, “Frank’s not here, is he?”</p>
<p>Trapper looks around and then gestures at the empty tent with Hawkeye’s glass. “Where would he be hiding?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. He’s so annoying I sometimes filter him out.” Hawkeye pushes up on an elbow. Most of him is lying down and he still looks like he could topple and roll right off the bed if he sways just the wrong way. “Hey. Come here, would you?”</p>
<p>Trapper does, mostly because he doesn’t want Hawkeye to end up on the floor. It wouldn’t be funny today. Hawkeye grunts and beckons him and Trapper moves in closer, shifting both glasses to one hand and bending over Hawkeye.</p>
<p>He realizes what’s about to happen two seconds before it does. They’re frozen seconds, a shivering eternity of his heart refusing to beat in his chest, but he doesn’t move away. He waits for Hawkeye to clamp a cold hand around his nape, drag him down, and plant a searing, ginny, frighteningly gentle kiss right on his mouth. Hawkeye’s two day stubble scratches. He smells. He has no technique.</p>
<p>He’s wonderful.</p>
<p>He’s grinning, wide and drunk, when Trapper straightens back up and runs a thumb over his lower lip. It’s on fire. “Well,” he says, because it’s the only word that comes to mind quick enough to pretend he’s not entirely dumbstruck.</p>
<p>Hawkeye is still grinning, the one he’d give a nurse when- Best not to go down that road. “We should try that again when I’m not drunk.”</p>
<p>The words rush back in like they never left. “You won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Then remind me,” Hawkeye says, like it’s that easy. He lies down, pulls his blanket up to his neck and hooks an arm under his pillow, and Trapper thinks he’s already out when he speaks again. “Thanks for being here with me, Trap.”</p>
<p>Trapper stares at him, still holding their two glasses, until he starts snoring. “Any time, Hawk,” he says, quiet so as not to wake him or risk anyone overhearing.</p>
<p>He downs the remains of his drink after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!! Comments are exceedingly welcome. You can find me on Tumblr as <a href="https://itwoodbeprefect.tumblr.com/">itwoodbeprefect</a>, where I've recently been confusing my followers with sudden reblog spams of MASH posts.</p>
<p>Have a good day, stranger. ❤</p></blockquote></div></div>
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